


Enchanted Assortment

by Lunaraen



Category: Minecraft Story Mode
Genre: Healing, Magical Realism, Personal Growth, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-24
Updated: 2019-05-24
Packaged: 2020-01-12 22:38:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 19,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18456029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lunaraen/pseuds/Lunaraen
Summary: A number of unrelated and sometimes related one-shot fics previously posted on tumblr and requested byNovemberVenom.





	1. Braiding

Petra hummed to herself, the tune one that pulled old memories of warm, safe summers to the surface, as quick fingers moved and twisted long black hair.

It was soft, at least when it had actually been washed.

The old bed mattress squeaked as she shifted her weight, pausing for a moment before starting again. It had been years since she’d made a braid, but the steps were simple and familiar enough.

He’d come to her with a look on his face and a tone in his voice she knew well. Petra’s line of work required figuring people out by the way they spoke and held themselves. Ivor…

He had a story to tell, just like everybody else, not that it was anything new.

He was resigned, in the way he looked her dead in the eye, and he was tired, shoulders sagging, barely keeping himself up. For whatever reason, he thought this would help and that she was the one he could trust. Hey, it wasn’t as if she hadn’t done stranger.

Granted, money had usually been involved, but friends didn’t charge friends.

That was what they were, supposedly. Jesse was certainly pushing it enough. It was harder to be mad at a man who’d almost caused the apocalypse when she hadn’t exactly been aware or herself for most of it. Her friends were all alive; it could’ve been so much worse.

Hours passed by freely, the sky outside becoming darker before turning black in a final display of colors. Neither said a word, Ivor simply bowing his head and leaving when Petra finished.

It wouldn’t be until later, shortly after finding a healing potion left at her doorstep, that Petra would learn that the last person to attempt to do _anything_ with Ivor’s hair had been Soren, and that all of his efforts had been unwelcome.


	2. Braiding

Gabriel sat on the couch as he shut his eyes, a thin blanket drawn up to his shoulders, the heat from the fireplace weak and its light dim. He had thrown more fuel upon it less than an hour ago, but the blaze burned through the logs swiftly. The snores of his friends carried through the halls, crashing and clashing to make a cacophony of slumber. The world outside was dark, stars and moon setting and vanishing, creatures of the night hooting and howling as they returned to their homes in the thick forest.

He turned as Ivor entered, the enchanter wearing rather casual clothing compared to his usual robes.

The seat sank slightly as he sat down beside the warrior, a steaming mug, filled with a light green strong smelling tea, in one hand and a half eaten cookie in the other.

“You’ll forgive me if I say it may be time for you to cut back on the treats?” Gabriel chuckled as Ivor turned to him with an eyebrow raised. The sweater he wore hid little, though it would be unfair to claim it was unflattering on the alchemist.

“Ha.” Ivor’s response was dry as he picked up the decrepit novel that sat on the small table beside the couch, opening it to where a faded bookmark was sticking out. “Good morning to you too, Gabriel.”

They sat in comfortable silence, the dying fire crackling every now and then.

It was not until Gabriel yawned as he leaned against his friend’s warm shoulder, his eyelids hard to keep open, that one of them spoke again.

“Did you get _any_ sleep last night?” Ivor did not look up from his book as he asked, fingers pausing before they turned another page. Judging on tone alone, he honestly wasn’t sure.

Gabriel shook his head before stifling another yawn.

“Not much, I’m afraid.” He had essentially collapsed upon reaching the couch, but had awoken what, according to the clock above the flames, was an hour later. “The training with Jesse went on longer than expected.”

Much longer. They had started after dinner, when the sun was above the rolling hills and treetops, and had only finished when the moon had passed its highest point in the cloudless sky. She was getting stronger by the day, her techniques and speed improving as much as her stamina and wit, and time had rushed by quickly until it had left two sore fighters panting and sweating in the chill. He could beat Jesse without issue, despite how rusty he was, but she was an enjoyable opponent.

“Who, I notice, is still sleeping.” The brunette had retreated to her quarters, sounding as weary as Gabriel had felt. “If she wakes up before noon, it will surprise me. I expected you to be asleep too, Gabriel.”

The reminder was not quite sharp, though it was there, coupled with an unspoken question.

Why was he awake?

It was odd-

Gabriel had spent plenty of time tossing and turning, trying desperately to be comfortable before accepting quiet relaxation as an alternative. Something about the room had felt off, and yet his limbs were too tired for him to seriously consider returning to his own room.

Now it seemed sleep couldn’t take him fast enough.

Gradually, his breathing slowed, and the area began to disappear, splotches of inky shadows overtaking it bit by bit.

* * *

 

When Gabriel opened his eyes again, the room was bathed in bright golden sunlight passing through the large, unobstructed windows, and he was now lying on his back, his head propped up a tad. Lively noises came from the kitchen and the upstairs, ranging from chatter to laughter to footsteps running on stone and wood. It was hard to tell if someone was cooking or trying out large explosives,

It took longer than it should have for him to realize that the soft, woolly cushion he was using happened to be a person.

Ivor had continued reading, though one of his hands held up the book while another rested on Gabriel’s side, moving from time to time to change the page. Whatever story it was didn’t seem to have him particularly interested, but it wasn’t bad enough for him to discard it yet.

He’d done that a lot when they were younger. Many a time, an unfulfilling or frustrating tale had ended up hurled at the wall in a fit of anger.

Hopefully he would refrain from doing so with someone resting more or less in his lap.

Speaking of which…

“You make a far better pillow now.” Gabriel grinned up at the potioneer, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Shut up, Gabriel.” There was no bite to his words, and, had there been, it would’ve been softened by the small smile that immediately followed.


	3. My Best

Soren hummed to himself as his quill scratched furiously at rough parchment, the basic design of an extravagant structure forming from the ink. He paused to take a sip of his coffee, steam wafting off of the drink and towards the polished stone above, the bitter liquid traveling down his throat without a problem and instantly warming his insides. There was no wind, the air outside as still as a statue, but it was far from a warm, sunny day. It was shaping up to be a true winter's morning, not that that would stop him.

If he couldn't build, he'd plan. There were so many ideas he never worked on, something he considered a real shame, and the silver lining of being cooped up was that it gave him a chance to sit down and actually bring those concepts one step closer to fruition, which was better than none at all.

Crystalline snow outside drifted down gently from the layer of puffy grey that was the sky, a clumpy blanket collecting on the single window pane, blocking out light that the one lit candle by his side made up for. The flame flickered as it danced upon the wick, never getting too close to his books or blueprints.

He was so engrossed in his work that he didn’t notice the sudden footsteps outside his door until it was too late, the dark oak swinging back and a head poking in immediately after. Ellegaard's goggles rested atop her wavy hair, a curl hanging in her eyes and a glittering redstone smudge spanning from the edge of her cheek to the corner of her ear, and the inventor's eyes were wide. She was wearing her "work clothes"; worn overalls and simple gloves rather than her more refined armor.

If her appearance and entrance didn't grab his attention, her words, carried by a rushed and sharp voice, most certainly did.

“What did you _do_ to him?” There was such an air of emergency, of alarm, in her voice, that it naturally got a response. If he didn’t know better, he’d say she was accusing him. What "him" she was talking about, when Soren couldn’t recall bringing any harm to anyone, the architect didn't know, but he'd soon find out.

He stretched as he got up from his chair, raising an eyebrow as he strolled to her side and peered out at the darker room, the fireplace crackling as it ate the last of its fuel.

It didn’t take long at all to see who she was referring to.

Soren leaned against the doorway with a hand as he grinned.

Oh, that. For a moment there he had almost been worried.

Ivor was lying on his back upon the couch, the sleeve of his robe slipping to cover half of the hand that was attached to the arm dangling off of the edge, fingertips nearly brushing against the ground. The alchemist’s eyes, half lidded, remained fixed upon the ceiling in an unwavering, dazed stare, the corners of his mouth quirked up in a soft smile. His breathing was slow, but not sluggish or rough. It was almost as if he was asleep with his eyes open.

Soren supposed his expression and body language could best be compared to someone who was drugged. No, perhaps closer to a person who was beginning to feel the full effects of sleeping gas.

In truth, it was simply the result of an Ivor treated to belly rubs- Which it turned out, much to Soren's delight, Ivor positively adored. Hah, and they said nothing good could come out of poking and experimenting with the enchanter when he was asleep.

Not that the potioneer had much of a belly to rub -Ivor had always been an extremely thin and bony individual- but Soren did the best with what he could work with.

It was evidently enough for his friend, who’d no doubt finish drifting off to sleep in a minute.

The peaceful look was not Ivor’s usual, but in Soren’s opinion it was oddly fitting. Ellegaard seemed more unnerved than pleased, and given that she wan uninformed, it made a good deal of sense.

He turned to the engineer with a smirk, back resting against the wood, crossing his arms as he answered.

“My best.” Evidently not what she’d been expecting.

Ellegaard stilled, mouth caught open until she let it quickly snap shut.

There was a familiar look in her eye as she gave a brief half smile, but Soren wasn't sure if she was afraid or awed. Whatever it was, it faded almost as hurriedly as it had appeared, and she chuckled. She raised her hands momentarily with her palms facing him as she turned away, shoes silent on the carpeted floor.

"Remind me to never get on your bad side." Ellegaard threw one last wary glance at Ivor before shaking her head, picking up a small mug of tea that sat on the table as she walked past. She’d likely set it down before noticing Ivor’s near catatonic state.

Soren rolled his eyes, his smile accidentally showing teeth, as he turned. He doubted he’d be able to do anything to her that was close to what affect he was lucky enough to have on Ivor.

Before Soren could take more than a single step, however, he looked behind him once more.

When he shut the door, prepared to spend the next several hours working fervently alone, Ivor had a heavy blanket draped across him.


	4. Ravenous

Soren realized, as he found himself pacing, boots making little sound against lush carpet and his hands making gestures to silently accompany and parallel his thought processes, that this wasn’t a conundrum he’d ever dreamed he’d be faced with.

The only time Ivor ever did things out of the blue or spur of the moment was when the five of them were on some quest, his rushed actions usually to their benefit, and they’d mostly been cooped up in their temple as winter continued to rage on with bitter temperatures and heavy snow around them.

However, seemingly from nowhere and with no motivation or explanation, Ivor had decided to raid their pantry, for reasons known only to himself. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t eaten, too wrapped up in his work, until the hunger became too much to ignore –as had been the case before, when Soren knew Ivor’d resorted to using potions to fool his body into thinking it’d been fed- but more that he, once outright reluctant to join them regularly for meals, was now the first one to the table and always seemed to have some treat, sugary or not, in hand.

To be fair, the fact that the almost skeletal enchanter actually wanted to eat instead of starving himself was undoubtedly a good thing. Ivor’s body was his own, truly, but it was nice to see him taking care of himself.

It wasn’t a gradual change, though, which was distressing. Ivor didn’t acknowledge the sudden shift, and Soren had to begin wondering if there was some meaning behind it that he was missing. His mind jumped from idea to idea, some more far fetched than others.

Was there something wrong with his experiments? Had Soren done something to upset Ivor, perhaps? Was this a coping mechanism for some disaster or incident none of them were privy to?

In short, Soren was worried.

They all were, really. Gabriel had mentioned something that very morning about Ivor being on the road to a heart attack.

Granted, Ivor’s weight gain wasn’t exactly that prominent or inherently troublesome, but the warrior had a point.

And until he figured this out, the architect knew it would drive him mad, constantly being toyed with and examined at the corner of his mind.

It was time to put the guessing games to rest and simply ask Ivor.

Soren left his room and crept towards the enchanter’s laboratory, the acacia stairs creaking beneath him as he walked down them, only to stop dead in his tracks as he turned the corner to find the resident inventor standing there in slightly bloodied armor.

She had just gone hunting with Gabriel, so he supposed her condition made sense.

But what was she doing here, of all places? Ellegaard was notorious for locking herself in her workshop after hunting trips, often for many hours at a time.

She brought a finger up to her pale lips as she glanced at the door, soft light trickling through what it could of the barely open entry.

They both slunk forward, the door opening more as they approached. By some luck, it didn’t creak, silently swinging backwards to let them see more. It slowed to a crawl before it came near the wall, also ensuring that it wouldn’t bang against the stone and alert the subject of their curiosity.

At his desk, with his back turned to them, Ivor was studying some new concoction, the quill in his hand scratching furiously against the paper of the journal beside the stand as he took notes. The fingers of his other hand were curled around a roll, wisps of steam escaping it now and then, which he absentmindedly took bites out of as the neon mixture bubbled. The brewing stand held three vials, but only the middle one swirled, an odd range of bright colors mixing this way and that.

"What did you do to him?” Ellegaard had, once again, assumed Soren was to blame for the sudden change in their alchemist. Her hiss was quick and quiet, gloved fingers gripping the chocolate colored oaken edge of the door frame. There were enough other white noises, between all of the boiling cauldrons and fizzing potions, that her words went unheard and Ivor was kept unaware of his company. “Why is he eating _everything_?"

“Everything” was a bit of a stretch, but the change in the potioneer’s appetite had been unexpected, to say the least.

"I don't know! He just started-” Hold on. Finally, his mind had begun to scramble something together, which was far better than nothing at all. Soren paused, body freezing for a moment before he glanced back over at the engineer. There was something odd about the timing of all of this, something that rang a few bells. “Wait...I-I think I may have said something to him..."

If looks could kill, Ellegaard would have him six feet under, what remained of his mangled corpse already cooling as earthworms feasted. Soren winced, pulling back and away from the doorway.

"What did you _say_ to him!?"

The redhead hesitated, thinking back to the last conversation he’d had with Ivor before this had started.

No. Ivor wouldn’t, would he?

Oh, gods dammit, Ellegaard was going to kill him.

"Ah, yes, well, about that... erm, perhaps I told him I needed more room to work with for belly rubs..."

Murder certainly seemed viable, given how her eyes narrowed further and the fires of the Nether stared back at him.

“Soren.” His name was ground out through clenched teeth, and Ellegaard took in a deep breath before she continued, lethal rage turning into tired exasperation. “Can you get him to stop?”

“I don’t believe there’s any stopping him.” Her fingers twitched at his answer, and it didn’t take a genius to figure out that his death at those trembling hands was nearing fruition. “You could always ask him, I’m sure.”

A finger was jabbed in his face, the inventor’s voice akin to the sizzling of lava.

“You started this; you can deal with it.”

With that, she turned heel and marched away, pace quickening with each step.


	5. Little Rose

There was a sort of natural order about the world, and there was a rule followed by everyone for their own sakes. Either you killed the monsters, or they killed you.

Maybe you paid someone else to do the killing for you, but the idea was fundamentally the same.

Like everything that was fine and dandy and should’ve been left alone, though, there was always someone who wanted to mess it up and screw around with it.

They made pets out of things that were best left alone, or, better yet, dead. People liked to use wolves and ocelots as examples, more like excuses, but it wasn’t the same. Wolves and ocelots didn’t attack unless they’d already been attacked, no matter the circumstances. Most monsters were only neutral in daylight, and all were well known for being murdering machines.

Ivor had taken a liking to said lethal creatures, which meant Petra wasn’t allowed to kill them no matter what her reasoning was. And, honestly, that was fine. It was annoying, sure, waking up to hearing things hissing and growling as they crept down the hall, given that Ivor’s “best behaved” beasts were allowed to roam, but in the end it didn’t matter.

She’d thought about going behind his back and killing a few anyways, but it was clear that, for whatever reason, Ivor actually cared about the demons he took in.

However, as fine as she was with not murdering them if they didn’t attack her, that did _not_ mean she was okay with the fuzzy ball of teeth that was dropped onto her lap by a smirking alchemist.

Petra had been resting on one of the older reclining chairs in the main room, and thus was on her back. She didn’t dare move, and her voice was higher than it should’ve been when she spoke.

“Ivor-” Petra froze as she stared at the cave spider, her fingers digging into the wooden arms of the chair.

"Oh, calm down; I'll be right back." She didn’t dare take her eyes off of the surprise visitor while its owner walked away, his footsteps soft and vanishing almost immediately.

She was going to kill him. That lousy, good for nothing piece of-

The spider, Ivor called her Little Rose, was still staring at Petra, her eight blood red eyes not moving.

The hell did the monster want?

Minutes may as well have been hours, dragging on slower than tree sap in the winter, Petra trembling as she kept her eyes on Little Rose.

Petra had come across plenty of cave spiders in her time. They came with mining, and they almost always popped up when treasure was involved. She also had no idea what to do when the plan wasn’t to either bolt away from or slaughter them.

Her mouth was apparently glad to spew the first confused nonsense that came to mind. When in doubt, use flattery.

"I-I see why he g-gave you that n-name. T-t-those eyes are... p-pretty…" It was also the ugliest damn spider she’d ever had the displeasure of seeing so close, and she couldn’t help but notice the way it cocked its head as she spoke. Petra was unarmed, had no armor on, and was incredibly lucky not to have been bitten. Shaking the critter off could work, but that would make it more likely for some of those poison fangs to come into play. To make matters worse, Little Rose seemed to find that the perfect time to get closer, fuzzy limbs pressing down on Petra’s stomach as the arachnid walked. “N-no no no no- You just- s-stay!"

Petra, for all her pride, was willing to admit that maybe the noise that escaped her throat as the spider decided to cross her body was similar to a squeak.

Thankfully, either out of something that resembled training or sheer luck, Little Rose didn’t get any closer, choosing instead to settle where she’d been stopped.

Petra would also be willing to admit that she did indeed whimper as the spider gave what sounded like a growl, low and rumbling.

Gods dammit. Calling out for Ivor was out of the question; he’d be back any minute, he didn’t want his precious pet killed, and she wasn’t that big of a coward.

But there was no harm in asking what was taking the enchanter so long, was there?

Maybe if she moved to pet Little Rose, the way Ivor often did, to calm her down… Did spiders have scruffs to grab? Petra didn’t think so. That was out too, and any movement could get the creepy crawly to snap and pounce right for Petra’s face- or hand, or her arm, or any body part, really.

It took far too long for Ivor to return to the room, the smirk on his face not changing as he sat down in the chair beside hers, the steaming mug in his hands making a small clunk as he set it down on the small table.

"Are you enjoying the company, Petra?" That did it; she was murdering him as soon as his back was turned.

“Fuck you.”

Despite him getting comfortable again, his pet remained on the warrior. Petra was even granted another rumble.

Joy.

He’d gotten his laughs, the bastard, so why was Little Rose still on her? What was he waiting for?

Petra turned her head the slightest bit, shuddering as she stuttered.

"T-take her?"

Ivor simply took a sip of his tea, raising an eyebrow as he smiled.

"And why would I do that?"

Yup, definitely dead.

They sat in continued silence, and Petra couldn’t ignore how heavy her head was feeling.

She’d been relaxing in this chair in the first place because she was exhausted after a long day of training, traveling, and trading. The “lovely” adrenaline boost provided by Little Rose had certainly kept her up longer, but gravity began yanking at her eyelids again.

If she was going to die, she might as well have gotten some rest.

Reality began to blur, Petra shutting her eyes as her mind was taken by a hazy fog.

* * *

 

She was in a warm chair, in a cozy room. There was a small cat purring in her lap, and what was the harm in petting it again?

Petra opened her eyes again, blearily blinking as she looked at the bookshelf, and then at the roaring inferno in the fireplace beside it. Next to her was Ivor, relaxing in his own chair with his tea.

What were they doing again?

Oh, that was right. She’d been resting, and then Ivor had-

With Little Rose-

And that meant that…

Sure enough, there was no cat in her lap. There was a spider making the same low noises as Petra continued to pet it.

Oh.

Cave spiders lived in frigid and dark environments, and they had thick fur to protect themselves from the freezing temperatures. It didn’t feel quite as soft as an ocelot’s fur, but it wasn’t by any means coarse.

That didn’t change the fact that there was now a scream threatening to claw its way out of her throat. Waking Little Rose out of her trance, however, would not end well, and Ivor had been given enough satisfaction for his stupid prank already.

She didn’t shout, but she did whimper.

"Relax, and don't stop petting her. She isn't going to hurt you." Ivor huffed, rolling his eyes as he leaned back.

Petra glanced back down at the spider.

To hell with it; she’d lived a good life.

* * *

 

An experiment was an experiment, and Ivor was willing to call the results of this one successful.

He chuckled as he plucked Little Rose from her slowly rising and falling perch on Petra’s stomach, the spider as asleep as the warrior. There was no telling what the redhead would do if she woke up to find Little Rose there, and there was too big of a risk that she’d accidentally roll over and crush her sometime in the night.

Ivor draped a blanket over Petra before turning and walking up the stairs, careful to gently place Little Rose on the bundle of soft silk that was on his desk.

Not what he had expected, perhaps, but it was undoubtedly something.


	6. Pillow

People were, by natural and inherent design, built to adapt. It went hand and hand with them being made to last. It was easier if someone could simply build up a tolerance to or craft something to help protect themselves from undesired or damaging conditions. After all, what was the bigger hassle; making a shelter, or avoiding all unfavorable aspects of the elements? Even then, one would likely get caught unaware somewhere down the line, left miserable or dead if things managed to get vicious.

All the same, there were types of weather that simply weren’t for everyone. Just because a person _could_ withstand something didn't mean they wanted to or were supposed to.

Some people preferred to spend their winters indoors, while others enjoyed the biting, rancorous conditions and the erratic flurries of snow it wrought.

Ivor was of the former group, which he would admit to without hesitation as he kept himself nice and dry, although it certainly seemed that most of the others were of the latter.

Ivor had just returned to his room from the kitchen, plumes of steam twisting and rising from the chocolate beverage inside the mug his fingers were wrapped around, when the sea of murmurs and tired laughter disrupted the quiet atmosphere. It was reassuring to hear, to be honest; Ivor had been considering stepping out and dragging them in by force, if need be, before they all caught hypothermia. They wouldn't be so bold then, sick in their beds just because they had the desire to play in and sling about frozen water.

Orange tendrils flared for a moment, the greedy blaze licking at the slowly disappearing fuel and the charcoal splattered bricks that surrounded it. Gnarled bark fell to the ground as the largest log, russet and twisted, fractured, the smaller bit shifting atop glowing embers as the flames crackled.

The fortified walls of the fortress didn’t begin to hide how the doors were all but slammed shut, and once again Ivor was pleased to have slunk back to his room before they invaded. The couches had, if past experiences were anything to go by, been swarmed, and he had no doubt that most of the new and old orders were too exhausted to do more than collapse.

However, Ivor wasn’t surprised when he heard noises down the hall, the sound of something, likely feet, dragging against the ground, that continued to creep closer.

There was a muffled thump, followed by another, and as Ivor straightened up, he could see Jesse’s kicked off boots and soaking socks peeking out from their position on the ground beside the door while she poked her head in. He had to appreciate her sluggish care for his carpet, even if he knew the rest of the floors had likely become a mess thanks to her and her friends’ unintentional but combined efforts.

Jesse’s hair, damp but surprisingly dry given the circumstances, was lifeless as it tried in vain to frame her flushed face. The limp chestnut curls were also ruffled, mussed in a few noticeable places where compacted slush had no doubt been plastered multiple times.

Jesse worked well as further distraction from the tale that had been tossed onto the small table beside the couch as she shuffled her way in across the short carpet. The story had been developing in a decent, as well as deceptive, manner, until the latest trite twist.

Miscommunication may have done its job in regards to comedy, when implemented well, but its use for drama was atrocious, not to mention insipid and hackneyed. He had set down the novel and walked away for a drink, fed up. Using it as more fuel for the fire had crossed his mind, but he'd opted to leave it intact for Petra, whose poor taste in books was well known to him by now. The few recommendations of hers that he'd tried had all been abysmal, and he’d since learned that others had not had better experiences.

The object of his ire was further jostled, an entire corner with nothing below it tipping precariously as the rest of the book barely kept to the side, when Jesse’s knees more or less buckled beneath her as she slumped onto Ivor, seemingly not bothered by the loud and likely painful crack made by the contact between her elbow and the table.

Ivor was less indifferent.

“And why, pray tell, have I become your new cushion?” Jesse lifted her head, an almost impressive feat, though her chirp fell all too well to her fatigue, wobbling and coming out more as a high pitched whisper.

"You're comfy!" Unfortunately, he'd have been surprised if he wasn't. By summer he would be trim and lean, which was perfectly fine with him, but winter was a bit of a different beast with its horrible temperatures and storms. Ivor could blame either Jesse or Soren, both of whom were plenty encouraging when it came to his food intake, but in the end it was his own doing. It made winter more bearable, at least. Ivor was near taking the idea of hibernation in a serious manner, more than ready to simply sleep the blasted season away.

As if her answer wasn’t enough, he was also treated to those infernal puppy eyes.

“And you are a leech.” Ivor flinched back as her arm touched his wrist, the chill sending unsolicited shivers down his spine. “As well as freezing! Get in here.”

Ivor untangled himself from the nest of heated blankets and quilts, lifting it to let Jesse in. She dove under the offered cover, with a vigor unlike all of her displayed lethargic behavior, the rest of her as cold as her arm had been. Ivor’s clothing did little to ward off the biting contrasting temperature, her frigid touch sinking through his sweater with no problem as she clung to him.

“Mhmm.” Jesse hummed, her words slurring somewhat. “It got pret- pretty wild out there. The wind started pickin up, and Gabriel… Gabriel made it clear that we had to get back inside, had to before it got too dark. Was fun.”

And what a miracle that was. With Gabriel and Magnus out there conspiring together, surrounded by constant laughter, ammunition, and activity, getting either of them to pay attention beyond who their next target was became a bit tricky. Rather, a person was guaranteed to have more luck forcing an ocelot to calm down while screaming obscenities at it and attempting to pet it with a sharpened and bloodied sword.

Apparently, the threat of zombies and the like attacking them after they'd been worn out was enough. Would wonders never cease?

“About time too. You’d been out there for hours." Ivor scoffed, rolling his eyes while he took a sip of his drink, licking his lips when he finished. "Did you all leave your brains behind in your haste to fling yourselves into the cold?”

The reply he received was another short hum, Jesse nestling up against his side while her eyes slid shut. It was perhaps the best answer he could hope to get out of her.

“Children, the whole lot of you.” How lucky he'd been that his potions had provided ample excuse to keep him inside and away from the chill. They couldn't have any explosions or disasters simply for a little careless fun, now could they?

Granted, it wasn’t so much of an excuse as it was a genuine reason. Losing cauldrons or brewing stands to volatile potions was far from enjoyable, and Ivor’s growing nether wart supply had needed tending anyhow.

Soul sand could get unruly when not treated, and the few crops that grew on it, the ones vital to his profession, would suffer.

It didn't take long for Jesse's breathing to slow, her chest rising and falling at an even, steady pace while Ivor began to feel sleep also tugging at the edge of his mind. Gods knew it would be better than attempting to resume his reading. Nevertheless, he did not fall to slumber yet, as it took almost as short a while for the hush to disband again due to muted footsteps and a nearby mutter.

“I see you’ve found yourself a friend.” Ivor turned as the cushion beneath him dipped, Soren sitting there with a mug of his own and a small smile that showed off the gap between his teeth. Soren’s shoulders slumped while he leaned into Ivor. Soren was wearing his usual clothing, his drenched winter wear and armor no doubt discarded for the day elsewhere. “Enjoying your role as a pillow?”

“I am not encouraging this behavior.” Even as Ivor spoke, Soren shifted closer to him, snaking a lanky arm behind Ivor and letting his hand rest at Ivor’s side.

“Of course not.” Soft, orange hair was up against his throat as Soren rested his head on Ivor’s shoulder, Soren's chuckle quiet while his cold nose, for a brief moment, pressed against Ivor's neck.

There were certainly benefits to staying inside and being the warm one.


	7. Appearances

Ivor had been weird from the beginning, or at least as long as Lukas had known him.

Years of dwelling on revenge and growing bitter would do that to a person, he supposed.

Even by his standards, though, Ivor was acting off.

He had been since Lukas had first seen him that -No, night had come and gone, it was just that none of them had slept- yesterday morning. First it had started with his weird enthusiasm and energy, entirely unlike the venomous grump he'd been a few months ago. He didn't walk, he ran, he seemed to have something to say about everything, and standing still was practically a challenge. It said a lot about this enchanted flint and steel if it got him to act like that. What exactly it was it said, though, Lukas wasn't sure. Either they were in for one hell of an adventure, or the flint and steel was cursed, or somehow toxic, had decided to affect Ivor first for whatever reason, and they'd all be smart to slowly back away.

However, the strange behavior hadn't ended there.

His hair looked duller, less shiny than his usual greasy black, to the point where it was beyond obvious, and, even though he didn't care much for keeping tabs on Ivor's hair in the first place, Lukas had noticed.

It was possible it was age catching up to him. It was _likely_ , and Lukas hadn't exactly tried to contact Ivor since the Witherstorms attacked, so for all he knew it had been getting that way since things had settled down. He was just happy Ivor wasn't trying to kill them. His interest pretty much extended itself about as far as making sure it stayed that way, but, again, his priorities didn't include paying attention to Ivor's hair. He didn't have to make the effort, though, not with the way Ivor seemed unusually concerned with it.

The man did very few things subtly, Lukas was starting to learn, and there were few things he could do when stuck in a jail cell with the man but observe. When Ivor thought no one was looking -and boy he did not know Petra if that was seriously what he assumed, because Lukas knew she was noticing just as much as he was if not more- he would fiddle with it, pulling one of the nearest bits closer so that he could look at it.

Whatever Ivor saw, he wasn’t happy with, if the furrowed brow and frown were anything to go by.

Then they'd gotten out of the lake and Ivor's hair, though dripping wet and drenched like the rest of him, was as bleached as a sandblasted bone that had been sitting out in the sun for days on end.

There was no way that Isa, shrewd and cunning as they got, didn't notice, but she was either too polite, too confused, still reeling from shock at the fact that there was an entire world of bountiful resources for her and her people to live on now, or too distracted by her bickering with Milo, which had started almost as soon as they'd managed to drag themselves from the water, to say anything. Lukas hadn't spoken up because they were wrapping things up and Ivor didn’t look keen on the idea of having to explain himself. Why Petra and Jesse had stayed quiet, Lukas didn't know, but he was willing to bet it was for similar reasons.

Once they made it through the portal, only to find a hall of the things, they were distracted by more pressing matters. Because frankly, there wasn't much that was more crushing. They weren't already stuck in another world, but the hundreds of portals promised that things wouldn't be easy. How would they know which one was theirs? Was there even a portal to their world here? How many portal halls were there?

It seemed never ending, the other end so far away that it was shrouded in shadows, the glows of the portals and the scattered about torches too dim to be seen.

There was a chill that refused to be ignored as it seeped under his clothes and into his skin, one hardly mitigated by the inky void of a ceiling and swirling portals that pulled at whatever heat they had. Though by all means it shouldn’t have been possible for it to exist, the hairs on the back of Lukas’s neck stood straight up as a light breeze pulled at Lukas’s sagging hair, making its wet, dripping tips brush against his exposed neck. His clothes were likewise tugged, just as soaked with sweat and water as the rest of him, further driving in the cold. The whistling of the wind wound and echoed throughout the hallway.

In a weird way, it felt good after all the chaos they’d gone through, refreshing as it both woke them up and drove the heat away from their drenched and battered bodies.

It was also uncanny and petrifying.

How long would it take them to get home?

Would they even get home?

The questions became darker and drearier, and Jesse’s attempts at an upbeat attitude and smile, however forced, were appreciated and probably best for all of them.

Thinking like that for too long wasn’t good for anybody.

Lukas was inspecting a portal with a glowstone frame, the pearly swirling film inside almost blinding, when Ivor cleared his throat.

The three of them turned to Ivor, who was standing with his hands behind his back.

Oh, right. There was still the matter of the unexpected color changing hair to deal with.

"There’s something you need to know."

"Is it about your hair?" Petra stood beside Jesse, who'd been staring down the long hall while they talked. Maybe the lack of sleep was catching up to her, the usual ache battle brought, or the frustration of not ending up at home, but the question held no friendly or polite pretenses.

"It involves that, yes."

Ivor was shaking.

And it wasn’t out of excitement.

He wouldn’t look any of them in the eye.

Lukas had seen the man angry more times than he could count, and he'd seen Ivor somber. He had even seen him giddy.

He couldn't think of the last time he'd seen Ivor scared.

"My hair- It's-" Ivor cut his own stutters off, words clipped and curt when he began again, "This is my natural appearance. It is by no means new to me, and until recently I managed to hide it through regularly using ink. Our dip in the lake must have been enough to wash the old ink out."

There weren't any quick replies to that.

Well, what could they say?

The silence began to drag, but before any of them could say something and break it, Ivor let out a terse sigh and began to remove something from his eyes.

Contacts.

Ivor pocketed them in his robe, tilting his head up as he stared Jesse down, and the look was almost identical to all the other steely ones Lukas had come to expect from him.

Almost.

His eyes were blue.

"I- they were more inconspicuous than glasses."

“ _Gods_ …” Petra and Lukas shared a look at the word. There wasn't a doubt in anyone's mind that Jesse, whose expression remained nigh-unreadable, was the leader, and whatever she said next could have devastating consequences. While in most cases they'd follow her lead, if she went too far, and as unlikely as it seemed it was a terrifyingly real possibility, they'd be playing damage control. Fear made people do things, things they normally would never do. Ivor knew it too, if the way he flinched at the word was anything to go by. “Ivor, you’re beautiful.”

Well, he couldn't argue with that. Ivor's hair looked much better, however much it may have stood out, now that it didn't look like he was dripping with oil. Which, in hindsight, it pretty much had been. Squid ink was hard to get out of almost everything, from wood to cloth, and even a good scrubbing was necessary if it got on skin. In hair? It sounded like an absolute nightmare to deal with.

"N-no, you must be joking." Even with the stutter, Ivor’s tone couldn’t get much drier. "'Beautiful' is hardly the word I'd use."

Ivor was the type to dig his heels in. That much was obvious.

Lucky him, Jesse was just as stubborn.

"What would you like, then? Stunning? Gorgeous?" She crossed her arms, only to uncross them almost immediately after to gesture to him, as if that would help drive her point in. If her eyes were any wider, they'd pop out of her head. "You look amazing!"

"Okay, I gotta admit- Jesse's got a point." Petra was grinning. "You look like a goddamned angel. Why would you hide this?"

"Yeah, they're right. You're seriously something! Have you even looked in a mirror before?" Of course he had, but that wasn't the point. Ivor's actual appearance was not a topic he was all too happy to reveal, never mind discuss, and that wasn't the sort of self-doubt he deserved. If he wanted to second guess himself before creating another monstrosity with world-destroying potential, that was a different story.

"I- I... Thank you." Ivor seemed on the verge of coming apart, an appearance that was only heightened when Jesse rushed forward and wrapped her arms around him.

By the time Petra and Lukas joined the hug, Ivor was completely leaning into them.

Soon enough they broke it off again, all weary but smiling. Honestly, Ivor having an unusual appearance was the least of their worries.

Treating him differently because of it would both be pointless and straight-up scummy.

The important part was that they'd survived Aiden's attempt to throw them behind bars and kill them.

Lukas flinched, his aching arm crying out once again, but he was sure it would fade.

“Why tell us now?” As soon as she asked, Petra put her hands up, like it would somehow placate Ivor and, more importantly, Jesse, whose glare was anything but friendly. "I’m glad you did, but why now? You've clearly been hiding this for a long time.”

"Would you leave me be if I didn't? I'd rather tell you on my own terms than have the truth weaseled out of me." Which was understandable, as that was exactly what they would’ve done. Such a noticeable change wasn’t something they could ignore forever, even with a sudden stream of surprises. Even if they’d just jumped straight into another portal, Lukas was certain it would’ve come up eventually. "The state of my hair is not as I anticipated. Today was supposed to be when I applied fresh ink. However, in all of the excitement, I may have neglected doing so before rushing off."

“You forgot.”

“Yes.” Ivor's scowl was more of a pout. “I had meant to do it after the crowd dispersed. In all honesty, I wasn't expecting you to find the key, not in the first temple or so easily. I underestimated your skill."

"You mean you tried to give us a false lead?"

"It was an educated guess, the most likely out of our options, but things rarely work out as they statistically should. The Old Builders were renowned for being both brilliant and secretive. I had assumed their traps would take you longer to safely crack. I suppose it makes sense that they wouldn't make the defenses too extensive; it would've drawn more attention to it if one of the temples was more difficult to search than the others. Once Jesse told me about your find, I forgot all about it. In part, I suppose, because I expected to be able to return by nightfall, or at least before being dunked in a lake."

"Nothing like an impromptu bath." Petra nudged Ivor with a smirk.

"Hmph." Given certain revelations, it made sense that Ivor would disagree. That didn't stop the first thought that sprung to Lukas's mind from being about how he probably rarely bathed, as busy, introverted, and greasy he normally seemed. Old habits died hard. "It was preferable to falling into an endless void, but not by much."

"Speak for yourself. I'd much rather get a little wet than go through that." Lukas continued to rub at his arm, smiling as the two of them sniped at each other, no actual bite behind their words.

"I’m sure you- Lukas, what did you do that arm of yours?" And just like that, any banter had been derailed. Ivor stepped forward while Petra and Jesse began to talk to each other in voices that weren’t quiet enough to go unnoticed, but were still a bit too hushed to be understood.

"Oh, that." Enough wincing and flinching and someone was bound to notice.

"Yes, that." Ivor was not impressed. The words were clipped as he asked again, and his previous embarrassment and almost shy demeanor were replaced by the far more familiar exasperation. "What did you do?"

"It’s a little sore after my fight with Aiden." The battle was one Lukas would rather forget sooner than later. Had he actually been prepared for Aiden's odd burst of strength, or stronger himself, maybe he would've been able to stop Aiden then and there and kept Jesse from being tossed after him into a supposed never ending void. Maybe it had led to them finding land, but Lukas wasn’t sure the near heart attack was worth it. He had a feeling Isa and her people would disagree. All the same, the experience had its uses. Live and learn. "He's stronger than he looks."

"Well, he obviously didn't have much going for him in the way of brains." Ivor smirked. "Had to compensate for that somehow, I suppose."

Lukas snorted, a few surprised chuckles escaping him at the comment. He didn't say anything else about his treacherous, and, as it turned out, murderous friend, and Ivor didn't prod further.

The silence was as comfortable as it could get with Ivor inspecting his arm, and a quick glance reminded him of the foreboding hallway, Jesse and Petra back to talking at a normal volume to each other about something or other, the portal they were standing in front of casting a blue glow over them as the sparkling insides swirled.

Lukas was sure Jesse would go back to poking, both physically and verbally, at Ivor once-

Huh.

Ivor's eyebrows hadn’t been visible. From a distance, it looked like they had completely disappeared, adding to how bizarre Ivor’s new appearance was at first glance.

But no, they were still there, pale enough to easily blend in with Ivor’s pasty skin. Being this close, Lukas could see that wasn’t where it ended either.

"Your eyebrows and eyelashes too?"

"It wouldn't be convincing, would it now, if my supposed natural hair clashed?" Ivor experimentally tapped the underside of Lukas's upper arm as he explained and Lukas flinched. Ivor raised an eyebrow, turning Lukas arm slightly as he frowned and kept his eyes on the limb. "Mm, this is more than a 'little sore'. Congratulations, you've managed to go and strain these muscles."

"So you've always hid it?" There was a click as Ivor lifted up and unlatched the top of a bag, which, if the clinking of glass was any indication, held far more than the haphazard stitches holding it together would suggest. The grey worn cloth looked strained, which was understandable given how much it was apparently holding, but it also looked like the slightest bit of weight would about rip the poor material.

"I began to use squid ink when I was a child. The ink is somewhat difficult to apply, but practice has its uses. I was nowhere near as skilled back then, on account of not being as experienced, but I managed to successfully pull it off, with a little help."

“When you were a kid? Why so young?”

“Part of it was out of wanting to fit in. Another part… People who share my condition have been murdered and mutilated before. Sometimes it’s done out of fear, although there’s a persistent rumor that somehow our body parts make useful brewing ingredients. A merchant could make a pretty penny for themselves if they were able to catch me by surprise. As unlikely as that may be now, I’d rather not risk it, and I prefer my normal appearance to this.”

“Do they?” Ivor raised an eyebrow. “Help with potions?”

The laugh he got out of that was short, bitter, and devoid of any humor.

“You would have more luck using rotten flesh.”

“Hold on. So it doesn’t actually work and people still fall for it?”

"Correct. People will believe anything, if you know how to sell it to them. I've grown attached to remaining intact and alive, so you can understand why my interests may have put keeping it a secret as a top priority of mine." There was a short pause, one that was anything but comfortable, before Ivor held up a small vial, the glowing pink liquid inside sloshing against the thin glass at the motion. "All you'll need to do is take a sip of this, and so long as you don't somehow do cataclysmic damage in the next few hours, you should be fine."

Lukas did as instructed. The potion went down well enough, the thick liquid sticking to his tongue and throat and the sweet taste sticking to his taste buds, followed by a sour aftertaste that was short but made a lemon seem mellow in comparison.

"Thanks." Lukas stopped mid step, turning around. "Hey, Ivor?"

"What now?" Whatever patience Ivor had was entirely gone by this point, and his pale skin showed how deep the contrasting dark bags under his eyes were. Lukas doubted the lack of sleep was doing any of them any good, especially after dealing with Aiden and running, as well as fighting, far too many times for their lives, not to mention the emotional strain Ivor had both gone through and clearly been expecting.

"Do you think we'll get back?" Ivor's look softened.

"Will we be able to return? Yes." But that wasn't the question and they both knew it. "Will we actually succeed? I'm afraid that remains to be seen."


	8. Fusion

Fire Aspect had been faced with nothing but surprises today.

They weren't the type to dislike surprises, per se, but enough was enough and a warning or two would've been nice. Of course, that would've made things too easy, too simple, and they couldn't have that.

Even their forming hadn’t been anticipated, not that they were complaining about that. It had been more than a month since the last time they had formed, and twice as long since they had formed in the midst of a fight. It was nice, really, to be back in the middle of the action, and probably the best surprise of the day.

The Order of the Stone had been exploring an abandoned fortress, half of it underwater, the other half covered in layers of twisting and intertwining vines and thick moss, and all of it dusted with a thin layer of snow, when the group had been ambushed. This had been one of the missions where they’d all been able and willing to go, and it was a good thing.

There had been more enemies than expected hiding inside the fortress, most of the shambling undead horde wearing armor and carrying weapons, and as such, Ivor, who had been convinced to go on this expenditure by Jesse, and Petra, who'd barely managed to avoid getting a flaming arrow to the face, happened to be closest to each other and found themselves in a bit of a rush to fuse, sniping back and forth while they did.

Needless to say, however sloppy the execution, they succeeded.

This was followed by another surprise.

In the month since they had last fused, Ivor had bulked up considerably. Wrecking his metabolism with a potion just because he couldn't be bothered to experiment on anything but himself first, one of his less bright ideas, would do that. Fire Aspect had retained their muscles, of course, but now there was a considerable amount of extra weight that had not been there last time.

No matter how used to it Ivor or unused to it Petra may have been, it was entirely new to Fire Aspect, who had always had a body that was more on the lean and limber side of things. Not that they were no longer as graceful as they once were, because they were and that was something they did have a considerable amount of pride in, but it had taken a short while to fully adjust to.

A short while that dragged on as arrows whizzed by, making dull thuds as they collided with bark or splintering altogether against stone, and their friends continued to call out to each other. Most of the yells and shouts were orders regarding their many practiced maneuvers and confirmations about which monsters were where, but there were also shouts for help that were just as common and far more frantic. Every cry of pain or shock, mixed in with the moans and growls of the undead, only fueled Fire Aspect's anger as they did their best to shake off how unbalanced they'd first felt and take down the newest wave of the enemy horde.

Easier said than done, but, ultimately, strong or not, mobs were mobs. The guardian hybrids, which looked more like vicious squid, if there was such a thing, than hybrid, that had been underwater were less easy to deal with. All the same, they were nowhere near as bad as actual guardians and hardly a fraction as powerful.

Still didn't make splashing about in icy water while trying to hit the elusive and frustrating monsters any easier, especially when coupled with their already mentioned issues.

It was a complicated business, trying to piece together what emotions came from who, and introspection of the sort often left Fire Aspect more frustrated than anything— But they had no doubt that it was Petra who fueled most of the initial distaste, Ivor's only real problem being how uncoordinated their first movements had been, the internal grumbling only abating slightly by the time the fighting was over. Petra's problem wasn't so much with their body, though that played a large part for reasons that weren't what they should've been, as it was a common issue that came with the mental-meshing that went hand in hand with fusion. She'd never liked being an open book, and before Fire Aspect had taken a single step, Ivor knew about some of her newer opinions that she'd rather he didn't.

They weren't going to think about it.

Because that always worked, right?

It was easiest to channel any frustration, and they weren't exactly lacking it, into their blows and body slams, which already had more force behind them now thanks to their new weight.

Using some of their other abilities also proved to be cathartic, at least a little.

By the end, a good deal of the vines and moss that had once seemed to be dragging the ruins into the water were now burned, smoke completely filling some of the tunnels while ash trailed in winding lines or varying thickness all the way back up to the top. The thin layer of snow that had managed to coat the ground was nothing more steam. There were definite advantages to using fire.

Even after the early confusion, the battle had gone well, all things considered. Their friends had fought as well as they had, working in tandem like the team they were. No one had been seriously injured, any and all cuts quickly taken care of and healed thanks to their large supply of potions, and Fire Aspect had mowed down more mobs than they could be bothered to count. Ultimately, while somewhat slower, there was also much more force behind their attacks.

Hours later, they had returned home to have a bit of a celebration and a well-earned feast.

The day as a whole would've been fine, for the most part, if Fire Aspect was better at lying to themselves and if that was where the surprises had ended. Naturally, it wasn't.

So what was the problem now?

Well...

Their stomach rumbled yet again and Fire Aspect winced.

…Apparently Ivor’s monstrous appetite had also carried over, because why not? It was painfully obvious —or just obvious, but Petra was still grumbling about it hours later, so “painfully” it was— they had his extra weight. They were already soft, had more padding than they knew what to do with. There was no reason for the cause to not be included too.

It would've been nice if it had been skipped, but this fit the theme of the day much better, and it had the added benefit of humiliating them. There were a good many things that day that had been embarrassing, such as their internal conflict that wasn't helping anyone or anything in the slightest, and their stomach trying its hardest to out groan a zombie fit right in.

It would be easier to think about, at least, if Petra was simply disappointed with Ivor. This was his fault. No one would argue against that, even if they wouldn't use the same exact words. He stayed inside the temple, away from prying and judging eyes, and he contributed as much as anyone else while he did, making more potions than any sane human being could. He was as efficient and dangerous now as he'd always been, and he was comfortable and happy while doing it. With a reputation as a dangerous madman who'd almost ended the world, it wasn't like he had much of an image to protect in the first place, and yet he still got to hide behind the walls of the temple.

It was infuriating. Neither of them were strangers to hunger. They'd both been far skinnier than they had any right to be before, points where they were beyond unhealthy and in downright dangerous conditions, and neither were too pleased with the idea of ever going hungry again.

This? This was far too familiar a feeling for both of them, if for different reasons, and Fire Aspect uneasily eyed the food as they shifted in their seat.

It was as if they hadn’t eaten in days, a ravenous something gnawing at their core like a starving wolf with a bone. They hadn’t felt like this in a long while. Technically, Fire Aspect had never actually felt like this, period. They were, as most fusions tended to be, larger than the average person, and battle always left them famished, but this was something else entirely that they'd never dealt with themselves, even if it was old hat for Ivor and Petra.

They rubbed lightly at their stomach, trying to ignore the padding —the _fat_ , because, really, they knew all too well what it was, and what it was, was a topic they were still quite conflicted on, beneficial in battle or not, and for reasons they knew they shouldn't have been — in favor of willing for the growls to stop.

Unfortunately, their stomach, like most stomachs, was not a good listener and saw no reason to start now. If anything, the growling became louder. It wouldn’t surprise them if it, both obnoxiously loud and accompanied by equally obnoxious pangs, could be heard throughout the entire building.

It was nothing new to Ivor, who experienced it regularly, but Petra was wholly unused to this and definitely caught off guard, and as such Fire Aspect found it more than a bit worrying.

Terrifying, really, because part of them couldn’t imagine anyone eating as much as Ivor usually did and being this hungry on a regular basis, which another part of them knew for certain he was. It didn’t add up, and yet here they were.

“Aren’t you going to have anything?” Despite what her smile suggested, Jesse was anything but innocent. She sat right beside them, making glaring down at her all the easier. She was a conniving, sneaky— The thought was cut off by their stomach rumbling again. Jesse's grin turned more sly as she leaned closer. “Come on, Petra, it might even be fun.”

The point was, Jesse knew exactly what was going on and they both knew it.

“Jesse, you are _not_ helping.” Tossing her in the nearby lake was sounding more and more like a good idea.

Jesse’s only reply, cocky little shit that she was, was a grin before she returned her attention to her plate.

Fire Aspect shook their head, gritting their teeth as they crossed their arms. They narrowed their eyes as Jesse briefly glanced back up at them, her grin growing as she did. Yup, the lake was sounding perfect right about now.

No, they weren't pouting. They didn't pout. They were merely... Displeased.

They had better self-control than this. They were going to eat a reasonable amount, not gorge themselves, no matter how much they wanted to, and they wanted to more than it should've been possible for them to, or how little a supposed “reasonable amount” would help.

Their stomach growled once more and they twitched.

Fuck it. They were hungry, dammit, and the food was right in front of them. It wasn’t going anywhere, and it would just drive them mad if they tried to skimp.

Fire Aspect was, despite what they may have liked to think, not the best with self-control. Most of their desires they could ignore or push away, but there were some that neither Petra nor Ivor saw any problems with. Their morals were fuzzy at best most times, and the impulses that lined up with them tended to be on the... iffy side, to put it nicely.

Choosing to indulge their ravenous appetite was one of their better choices. Quite simply, the food was good. Already delicious dishes were made all the more tantalizing by the ravenous hunger that came with battle, and to say that any previous hesitations were forgotten would be an understatement. There was no stopping while they were still hungry and there was still food to eat, and they had been plenty hungry with no shortage of food in front of them, and any thoughts of slowing down were tossed out the window and shattered as they crashed into the ground at full speed.

Table manners, which neither Petra or Ivor had ever paid more attention to than the average person did in the first place, were likewise discarded.

It didn't help that every single dish, already delicious, tasted all the better thanks to how hungry they were. From the sour to the sweet, Fire Aspect found themselves enjoying at least bits of all of it.

In the resulting chaos, which they should've been at least a little ashamed about but weren't, Fire Aspect faintly noticed a good number of their friends disappearing, leaving the room altogether.

Once the gnawing ache had been taken care of, or at least sufficiently dulled, Fire Aspect looked around, raising an eyebrow as they did. Most of the seats were noticeably empty, only Soren and Jesse at the table. Of those who'd originally fled, none had returned, despite how hungry they must have been themselves after their long day.

“I think they’ll make something for themselves later— If they still want more.” Fire Aspect looked down to see Jesse, who had been eating at a much slower pace and seemed to be enjoying what she'd managed to snatch for her plate.

Few would want to be between food and someone twice their size with large teeth, sharp enough to be fangs and a demanding appetite. Staying seemed like more of a death wish than anything, but if anyone had nothing to worry about, it would be Jesse and Soren. So long as they were smart enough to keep their hands and other body parts away from the food that wasn't already on their plates, and they certainly were, they would be fine. Now that they thought about it, though, most of the plates were also missing. It wouldn't have been hard to duck into the kitchen for some food or to run with their plates if they'd managed to already fill them.

Fire Aspect couldn't say for sure, as they'd been too busy putting everything they could on their own plate to notice what anyone else was doing with their own. Still, they had a feeling that their friends would be just fine, even if their pantry would be depleted even more now than first anticipated.

Besides that, this meant more dessert for them.

* * *

 

Dessert stood no better a chance than dinner had, and was perhaps more at risk. That wasn't exactly unexpected.

No longer starving and nearly stuffed though they may have been, dessert was also delicious and they had little competition for it, even if it looked like someone had taken their share of a few with them beforehand in the kitchen. There was no turning down the assortment of various pastries and other sugary treats. However, all good things had to come to an end, and Fire Aspect stretched their arms above their head as they stood, the desire to sleep already tugging at their limbs.

They found themselves trudging from the table, mumbling a slightly slurred goodnight to both Soren and Jesse, and moving to perhaps the largest room in the temple, which also had the largest fireplace.

After everything they'd eaten, coupled with the familiar ache from battle, they wanted nothing more than to sleep. It was one of the few things they were in complete agreement with. After all, tried was tired, no matter how you looked at it. There was no bed or couch that could fit them, but that was fine. They could easily make do, given how content they already were, especially here.

The carpet was rather fuzzy, more like a giant blanket they couldn't wrap around themselves than a carpet, and the room had already been warmed by a roaring fire someone had started in the fireplace. Fire Aspect more or less collapsed to the ground, no grace to be found in the action. The resulting thump could likely be heard throughout the entire temple, but it was hard for them to care. They were lying right in front of the fireplace, the flames dancing about as the wood crackled and popped, and the carpet really was wonderfully soft in a way it had no right to be. The floor wasn't supposed to be this comfortable to lie on, but who was complaining? It was something they could definitely get used to.

They began to drift off, fatigue and a full stomach tugging at their mind with as much force as an anvil tied around an already blown-about and ruffled feather. However, pulling them back into awareness, or at least something closer to it, hands began to poke and pet at them and they stiffened. There wasn't any guess who it was, a bleary glance confirming that it was Jesse, and they found themselves too tired to do anything about it. They weren't sure if they even wanted to. They were exhausted, and Jesse's prodding, delicate and with a certain rhythm to it, was comforting once the initial surprise wore off.

Ivor was hardly unused to this, was practically an experienced professional when it came to these things at this point, and any fight Petra had in her had been beaten back by how tired they were and how gentle Jesse was.

It felt too nice to be something she could really argue against anyway, as content as they were. There was only so much arguing for the sake of arguing that she was able to do without driving herself mad. After the day they'd had, it only seemed fair to end the day comfortable. Eventually, as they finished slipping away, they could've sworn they felt a smaller body curl up against them, and there was little wonder who that was too. Jesse had always been quite the cuddler.

The sleep they got that night was perhaps the best sleep they'd ever gotten.


	9. Ceremony

Ivor knew a surprising amount of people for someone who'd just about isolated himself from the world for years on purpose.

This came in handy more often than not, and while Jesse found herself grateful for it on a regular basis, she couldn't recall being as thankful as she was now. One of these people had invited both her and Ivor to a ceremony.

It wasn't just any ceremony; it was a witch ceremony.

In most cases, the words "witch ceremony" were usually the start of some cautionary story that ended with a sacrifice or eternal torture at the hands of a witch, and was supposed to warn kids not to mess with witches if they wanted to stay alive.

It didn't hurt that almost every one of these stories was at least based on something that'd actually happened.

However, as it turned out, there were neutral witches, rare though they might've been, and Ivor happened to know a few. Maybe it should've surprised Jesse, but she'd learned to just roll with Ivor's oddities. The fact that there were actually friendly witches out there interested her more.

Their testificate was different from any she'd heard before, a strange dialect that made it a bit harder to understand, but no less interesting. Jesse would never have guessed how useful Ivor's lessons would've been. She couldn't imagine trying to keep up if all she knew was broken and basic testificate. Her replies still weren't fluid enough for her liking, but being able to understand what she heard, albeit with a bit of trouble, was more important.

They'd managed to get themselves a spot that was at a distance, on the edge of a large, empty clearing, save for one villager at the center of it.

Also surrounding the clearing were more witches than Jesse'd ever seen in the same place before, and it was a good thing they were friendly. Otherwise, she and Ivor would've been about a million kinds of dead, with nothing but a pile of ash left of their inventories.

As it was, the witches weren't going to kill them, but the wait seemed determined to do it.

For the whole process to work, it had to occur at midnight— not a minute sooner, not a minute later.

Normally, it was supposed to be a pretty quick and nasty thing, a lightning bolt hitting whoever was unlucky enough and pretty much ripping whatever magic they had to the surface, leaving the poor person horribly unhinged.

Because apparently getting struck by lightning wasn't bad enough.

Making somebody into a witch on purpose? It pretty much required that the person in question really wanted to, because a witch couldn't get too close to the lightning if they didn't want to be killed by their own magic and it was still supposed to hurt whoever the witch-to-be was a lot.

The ritual required stormy weather that would be enhanced by the gathered witches' magic, and Jesse's toes curled as she hunched her shoulders and dug the heels of her boots in, leaning forward as another gust of wind blew through the clearing, crisp golden leaves swirling about in the air while thick vines and branches made relatively short but violent trips to the ground.

With every second, it became harder and harder to stand still, for a variety of reasons.

Jesse's comments had long since started to run together, and she was more murmuring nonstop than anything, and she wasn't sure if she was shaking because of the magic, which crackled in the air and seemed to make everything rumble and shake a bit, or the wind, trees bending and swaying as they creaked and groaned, or just because she was excited.

"Jesse." Her name was hissed, Jesse smiling as she turned to look at Ivor. His knuckles were white as his fingers dug into the worn leather of an old journal he'd been determined to bring along, terrible writing conditions be hanged.

What?" She tilted her head a bit to the side as she turned to him, brushing a bit of wayward hair behind her ear. It was a useless effort, the wind blowing it about before her fingers even left it. "It's cold, it's dark, and it's exciting as hell! You can't expect me to _not_ get a little excited."

"Be that as it may—" Jesse ducked as Ivor did, a wayward branch barely missing both of their heads. "—this is still a formal and sacred ceremony, and we happen to be outsiders. We're lucky enough that we're allowed to be this close."

"Alright, alright." Jesse grinned as she rolled her eyes, bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet. "Killjoy."

Ivor only snorted in response, turning his head to look back up at the sky and the blood red moon in the middle of it.

Finally, _finally_ , the witches raised their hands, the dark, rumbling clouds above growing darker and noisier, the small flashes that came from normal lightning that was occurring elsewhere ceasing for a moment.

There was a white hot flash and the sound of an entire stack of TNT going off at once, and her back hit the dirt. It felt like her insides were numb and someone had just tried to rip that out, body shaking as a new, foreign blast energy shot through her.

It was pain. It was healing. It was thrilling. It was scary. It was everything and nothing all at once.

It was wonderful.

Jesse didn't cover her ears as the lightning struck, too busy staring to think, too busy seeing nothing, and she sorely regretted it a moment later, rubbing an aching ear as she began to blink rapidly. Her vision was blurry at first, already indistinct shadows dim and hazy, shapes growing sharper with every second as her brain caught up.

She was grinning so wide that her face hurt —or maybe that was just the effects of the magic— and she barely managed to fight back an excited cheer as she shot back up to her feet, not looking down as she extended a hand towards Ivor, who accepted it with a grumble a moment later.


	10. Ice Cream

Quills scratch against paper in tandem, interrupted only by the occasional crackle of the logs slowly burning in the fireplace. Orange and red flames have already sucked up most of the fuel, leaving the dark embers to give a pathetic attempt at making more fire every now and then as they begin to cool on the ash covered bricks.

Petra and Lukas are sitting side by side, Lukas propping his head up with a hand as he writes, elbow resting beside several large and rolled up blueprints that are also lying on the desk, while Petra clutches her hair and tugs lightly on it with a hand as she stares down at her quill.

Her friends mean the world to her, she reminds herself. She never had a team before them.

They're there for her whenever she needs them, especially when she least expects it. It's different from how things used to be, but that doesn't mean it's bad.

She wouldn't give them up for anything.

That being said...

Being with said team means paperwork.

Right now, that feels like a pretty big deal breaker.

Petra's hand goes back to holding the scroll open and straight as she glares down at the desk, other hand still moving.

There's nothing she hates more than paperwork. She'll gladly go toe to toe with a hundred cave spiders if it means never having to fill out or look over another sheet.

And people think that because she was a full-time trader, she should be used to this, but she’s not.

The trades she did were either small or entirely black market, and the whole point of the second option was to keep things _off_ the books. Petra had been more of a mercenary than a trader, and no official stall or wagon meant that she never needed to keep logs even in the bigger cities.

She's not really a mercenary, anymore, though. She's a hero, which she's liking a lot more than she thought she ever would, even if it means black market deals are out of the question now, and she's in charge of the city's guard, which is fine and all except for the times when incidents happen and paperwork pops up. Every now and then, she has to do more than just sign off another stack of already completed paper, and that's fine. She can't blame the captain of the guard for not being able to handle everything all the time.

(This isn't a cry for help, though, so much as it is him chucking it at her and saying 'Your problem now'. Not that Petra blames him, because who the hell would be stupid enough to light something anywhere near a firework stand in the first place and she has no idea where the pounds of butter even came from, but she feels she has a right to resent being at the top of the totem pole. Whether she has a right to or not, she does resent it, because it means she can't push it off onto somebody else.)

And maybe it wouldn't be so bad if those were the only papers she needs to take care of, but she's in Lukas's workshop instead of her own room for a reason.

He'd already spent at least an hour on paperwork before Petra settled down to deal with hers, and his consists of pretty much every complaint, suggestion, and request that the Order's gotten in the past two weeks. The serious stuff's handled as they get it, but the more minor things tend to pile up until somebody finally decides to work on them- and Petra's not cruel enough that she'd just ditch him when she finished her stuff.

Ivor, Axel, and Jesse are off on some adventure Ivor couldn't be more excited for, and while Petra's glad they'll have fun exploring whatever special temple Ivor was going on about, she also knows they won't be back until long after dark, and asking Olivia for help when she's in Redstonia drowning in paperwork of her own doesn't seem fair.

(Most of what Petra’s already gone through have been complaints that don't really mean anything and requests that are more about things that the Order can't take care of, things like city maintenance and trade disagreements in cities hundreds of meters away from where theirs even begins, though there's one letter they got that morning that's very clearly written by two different people who can't agree on anything, and it's been the highlight of Petra's day so far. She has no idea how Reggie deals with it, but the invitation itself is nice.)

Still, Petra's only halfway through some ungodly sized stack that's been separated from an even bigger one, and the words have all already started to blur and bleed together.

Time for a break.

Petra stretches her arms above her head before pushing her chair back, turning from the eyesore of paper as she gets to her feet.

"Petra?"

"Forget this. Nothing matters any more. Do you want ice cream?" Lukas doesn't answer at first, raising an eyebrow while he turns the quill in his fingers, and Petra sighs as she brushes her hair back. "Look, my brain's melting, and you've been at this longer than I have. Don't tell me I'm the only one who needs a break."

"Sure." Lukas shrugs as he gets to his feet, pausing with a hand on the top of the back of his chair as his lips quirk up. "Why ice cream?"

"Because without ice cream, I'm going to chuck everything into the nearest pool of lava, and I don't want to have to start all over again. Besides, I missed lunch for this, and ice cream's nice." And she happens to know where Ivor keeps a stash of the stuff, and he probably won't notice if a bit goes missing, so that helps. Petra shrugs, smirking as she starts walking towards the door. "Unless you want to keep going?"

Lukas doesn't skip a beat, glancing back to the behemoth of scrolls and papers with far too many boxes and lines that need filling before looking back at her with a grin, following behind her.

"Ice cream sounds good."


	11. Cuddly

Ivor makes a good pillow.

That's Petra's defense, excuse, and reasoning, and she's sticking to it.

Petra huffs, twisting as she tries to pull away from Ivor, his grip on her not changing as she exhales sharply through her teeth.

Unsurprisingly, a better diet and a steady place to live means he's gained a fair bit of muscle to go with the weight, just enough to make fighting against him impossible if Petra doesn't want to wake the rest of the temple up, or have them both fall onto the ground.

It might be early, and the carpet might be nice and soft, but she's sure being crushed isn't on her list of things to do this morning.

It's really a shame that she doesn't have any pillows or any blankets to toss at him, she thinks as she lets her fingers lightly drum against the fuzzy couch cushion, but there wasn't much sense in dragging herself to her room to get a pillow when she had a perfectly capable, perfectly grumpy one right here.

Not that he asked her to use him as a pillow or anything, but it's his fault for being so comfortable in the first place.

When Petra came back to the temple last night after a long trip to meet with a ridiculously demanding client, already tired after running around all day in the snow and sleet, only to find Ivor already reading something or other on the couch, she'd expected the worst result from crashing next to him and using him as a pillow would be teasing, especially because she knows she's cuddly when she sleeps, not being held against her will.

He never made any promises and she hardly bothered to check before falling asleep, though.

She could get away from him, if she really wanted to, but that would probably involve fighting with him, and as tempting as it is to catch him off guard and fight dirty, because that's pretty much what he's started doing, she owes her temporary cushion a bit more than that.

Especially with it looking as early as it probably is, the dark blanket of clouds outside already making it hard for sunlight to get through and the thick, drawn curtains making it even harder. Just because she needs to get up doesn't mean he does, especially not with how late he was already up the night before and how much she knows he likes sleeping in now that he can.

Maybe she won't be this nice for much longer, but she's feeling guilty enough as it is now, and that's her hindering herself after already getting herself into this mess.

It's entirely her own fault.

She's also entirely going to kill Ivor if he doesn't let her go, because her own stomach is killing her and the restroom doesn't sound like a half bad idea right now, except that getting up's a bit of a problem when she's being held as tightly as she is.

If she was just tired instead of as hungry as she is and as desperate to get up as she is, she probably wouldn't mind ignoring the rattling of the windows and the way the wind whistles under the front doors in favor of getting some much needed sleep, but her body's never been that kind to her and it's not going to start now.

Petra's sure this her own fault too, to a point, payback for spoiling herself, because she's sure the last time she ate was a big lunch yesterday and her gut really shouldn't be complaining about it this early.

There'll be plenty of time to worry about that later, though, after her stomach stops trying to claw its way out of her body.

She tries to pull away from him again, one hand pushing against his shoulder. It doesn't get her anywhere, Ivor not relaxing his grip at all, but she knows there's no way he can still be sleeping.

Which means she can do something she's wanted to do from the start and make threats.

"Ivor, I'm going to sock you in the gut if you don't start moving." There might not be much room for her to pull back, but she won't have to for a hard enough punch, and it's not as if she wants to actually hurt him. Still, Petra's foot twitches as there's no response at all from Ivor, his breathing steady and no part of him, save for the equally steady rise and fall of his chest, moving. "There's a lot for me to punch."

She expects some kind of comment for that, at least, a comeback of some kind or him poking fun at some part of her in return, but she doesn't get one.

There's instead a pause where the wind outside howls louder, the branches outside swaying enough to brush against the window, before Ivor grumbles, turning slightly as the arm he has around her moves up slightly, hand grabbing her side just as tightly as it was before.

He might as well have twitched, the way Petra's fingers are now.

Oh, he's hilarious.

"Happy now?" And from the sound of it, never mind the too smug smirk on his face, he knows it.

"Ivor, come on." She'll give him some cookies or something later to make up for waking him up, but enough's enough and he really should've let go earlier if he just wanted a chance to fall back to sleep. "You've had your fun."

"Have I?"

"Ivor..." It's supposed to sound more threatening than it does, because she's seriously considering socking him and they both know it won't feel nice, but there's no mistaking the way it twists and stretches into a whine and Petra just does her best not to wince.

"Fine, fine. Have it your way." Ivor shifts, moving to rub one of his eyes as he sits up, leaning back against the couch and letting go of her in the process. Petra would like to try and think there's anything graceful about the way she gets up, but it's hard to imagine when she's leaping off the couch, already stretching her arms over her head when she stumbles on her feet. "Don't come crying to me the next time you don't sleep well."

And they could have their own friendly little argument here, it wouldn't be anything new, but there really is a reason Petra wanted to get up as badly as she did, so she just snorts before turning, moving as quickly towards the kitchen as she can while still being quiet.

"Never gonna happen."


	12. Starved

After the Witherstorm, it took a little time to figure out how to act around Ivor.

Jesse suspected it took him just as long, if not longer, to figure out how to deal with living with all of them. They all only had to wonder about him, and he was surrounded not knowing and not sure who and how to trust.

Jesse almost didn’t think he had many plans about what he’d ever do after getting his revenge, and she still wasn’t sure.

And maybe two months wasn't really that much time, but it was enough for them to finish up major rebuilding and even go on a few tiny adventures of their own, and definitely enough time where Jesse was pretty sure they'd all be in some form of trouble if they didn't have Ivor himself there to help or his health potions.

It was enough time for Ivor to start eating with the rest of them, or at least in the dining room.

It was also enough time for him to not quite hide how surprised he was at the portions they all had, and in turn he had, and enough time for Jesse to worry about just how little he'd been getting when he was setting up and hiding out in his lab.

So maybe it wasn’t that much of a surprise that after lunch, while the others were already done and doing their own things, she decided that it was a good time to actually sharpen her sword like Petra was always telling her to, even as she watched Ivor with a smile. Said alchemist had already gotten a late start in the first place after finishing an experimental potion she wasn’t entirely sure he _hadn’t_ spent the past two days working nonstop on.

She wasn't even all that sure what kind of smile it was.

Maybe it was fond, because she really was happy that he seemed to be getting better, seemed to be acting more-

Well, she never knew what he was like before the Order lied to everyone, before they kicked him out, and he certainly wasn't acting exactly like the angry, bitter man who'd stolen from Petra, because while he could definitely still be both, he...

Hmm...

He seemed more alive. Healthier, not quite as close to burning out after running on nothing but a simmering, seething desire for revenge for so long.

And she thought it was fair to call him a friend, at this, point, after all he had done for them and after he had moved into the Order's new temple as their alchemist, so maybe it was a fond smile.

But maybe, just maybe, it was a little sad too.

Because no one should've known what it was like to be so low that just getting to eat made them so happy.

And at the same time, maybe that was what made it even less of a surprise that it was time for a chat.

None of her friends ever seemed to like seeing her sad.

(Jesse knew some of her smiles seemed sadder than they should've, but she'd gotten better at making them look happy anyways, happy enough that the crowds never noticed.)

"What's up?" But Petra wasn’t one of the crowds, and she’d always been good at picking out things like that.

Still, she didn’t ask about the detail so much as the smile itself, and Jesse was allowed to ignore most of it in favor of gesturing over to where Ivor was sitting, halfway through a meal.

"He acts like he's never been fed in his life."

It was a large dining room, far bigger than they really needed, and they were far enough away that they didn’t have to worry about whispering, but her words were soft all the same.

"Yeah, well, it's a good thing he's as good at hunting as he is." Petra’s voice didn’t have the same happy-sad combo Jesse’s did, not as soft or quiet, so much as it was almost teasingly begrudging and a little grumpy, still too light to be stern. "Otherwise the market would be in trouble."

Jesse stopped sharpening her sword in favor of giving Petra a flat look, already betrayed by her own smile, gentle but not hidden.

"Petra."

"What? I'm serious. He's a guy who's barely been getting enough to survive for _years_." And then it clicked, as Petra gave a chuckle that sounded just a little weaker than hers normally did, sounded off in a way Jesse knew Petra herself would just brush off as exasperation. "Do you have any idea what that does to somebody? Our pantry's in danger."

Because no one should've ever known what that was like, but... Petra did.

Huh.

Jesse wondered if maybe she missed that, if Petra had some sort of similar happy binge on everything edible or made it clear she was tempted and Jesse never saw it, because she was a little too wrapped up in her own grief, when everyone else was so happy and they started being treated like heroes, or because everything felt like such a blur at the time.

Well then.

Two birds, one stone. She wasn't going to let it slip by her this time, especially because Petra was also right that it was about time to restock their pantry anyway.

"...that's a good point." Jesse straightened up, rolling her shoulders, now aching from what she hadn’t realized was that much pressure, as she glanced at Ivor before looking back at Petra with a wide grin. "Okay, so we're going into the market."

Petra blinked before raising an eyebrow, her arms crossed as she leaned against the wall with one of her shoulders.

"...do you know how ridiculous the prices get this time of year?"

Also a good point.

But Jesse wasn't going to just let Ivor go hungry, and letting him unwittingly eat them out of house and home sounded just about as fun as letting him limit himself when there was no reason to.

"I thought you were an expert trader!" Jesse gave another large smile, knowing that Petra rolling her eyes didn't mean she didn't want to defend her pride anyway. "Besides, we’re heroes, there has to be some kind of discount for that; I trust you to get us the best prices. Come on, you can get whatever you want- I'm pretty sure he's not picky, and we've got enough for the others if they don't like whatever it is."

Their pantry, despite Ivor's best efforts, had enough in it that it could probably last them all comfortably for at least two months if they were suddenly somehow unable to get food and all somehow possessed by some kind of ravenous hunger the entire time.

And they'd both seen Ivor eat Silverfish meat without any problem, so it wasn't as if either of them had much to worry about when it came to what he was willing to eat.

"Thanks." The word was dry, drawled, with more than enough sarcasm behind it that Jesse didn't have to look to see Petra was smiling and to know that it was one of those gentle, tired smiles she didn't give often enough. "You're coming with me, right? Because I'm not explaining why I'm buying the market out of stock all by myself."

Jesse paused, lips twisting into a smile even as she turned, raising an eyebrow but not at the already expected smile.

"Oh? I thought Ivor was the one we had to worry about."

"I'm not shopping like this more than once. I'm too cheap and it would kill me."

Jesse wasn’t one for blowing their budget either, but sometimes splurging a little didn’t do any real harm, especially not when she knew it would be good in the end for her friends.

"And me being there helps how?"

"Come on. Just play along and be emotional support."

"I thought you didn't need emotional support." Jesse continued as Petra’s gaze briefly turned flat, cutting off whatever retort Petra was about to give. "I’m kidding, I’m kidding, I'll come. If we go now, we might be able to surprise Ivor for dinner."

Petra seemed to relax at the idea, expression softening even as she raised an eyebrow again.

"...Jesse, he's been surprised by regularly available full meals. He might have a heart attack when he sees what you bring home."

“What _we_ bring home. You’re not getting out of it that easily.” Jesse glanced down at her newly sharpened sword, the twisting glow from the enchantments shimmering even brighter as she turned it, making a mental note to put it back in the armory for training later before they went. Her grin turned toothy at Petra’s groan as Jesse turned to her. “It’s time to do some shopping.”


	13. Hot Chocolate

Petra's been a little high strung lately.

The way people get when they're not really stressed and they've been enjoying the holidays while there's the lurking feeling of things to do and stuff to come slowly crushing them and grating on their nerves the whole time. Like paperwork.

And then they have to deal with said built up doom and gloom.

Because Petra's pushed it off as long as she could, but now she has to be responsible and take care of the small mountain of files and papers and forms she has no one but herself to blame for.

To add to it, which is not what she needs but none of this really is and it's all very much still her fault and hers alone, she begins tackling the mountain of despicable busywork after dinner, despite having a day of little training instead spent mostly relaxing and goofing around with the others. They have paperwork of their own, of course, but they've actually done the responsible thing and handled it all as best they could to get the best break they could.

She's fairly sure they all have an unfair advantage, having cities to run and being more used to it, never mind Lukas, who may as well live in paper for as much as he writes, but that also means they have more responsibilities and this is what she gets for being in charge of the city guard and various odd bits of material she insisted on taking off of Jesse's hands.

They're the ones who really need a break, Jesse and the others, not her.

So, having established this torture is one of her own making, knowing she can blame no one and making no attempt to do so beyond empty grumbles as she scrawls away at text-heavy parchment, she's also willing to admit that it's likely her fault she's feeling as out of it and sleepy as she is.

The paperwork does nothing to help, of course, as it's a monster of her creation, fueled by procrastination and willing ignorance, but the three large mugs of hot chocolate aren't helping her stay awake.

That's not why she had three, or two, or even just one, instead meaning to keep herself relaxed long enough to get it done. It's Ivor's brew, and whatever he puts in it, because she knows enough to know for certain it's not just hot chocolate even when she's not sure how she hasn't spilled any yet, is strong and three mugs was probably A Mistake.

She thinks she's taken it just a bit, or a lot, too far.

The paperwork is almost all finished even as she fights to keep her eyes open, eyelids heavy and as stubborn as she herself is.

Petra's sure it's supposed to be some sort of kindness that the words all start blurring together into a messy stream of nonsense after she's halfway through the last form, half unsure if she's simply writing her answers or also mumbling them aloud, but she's just so tired.

Just

really

 _tired_.

It's only when she's straightening up that she realizes she nearly slammed her head into her desk, her vision only just beginning to return from the brief blackout.

Petra bites the inside of her cheek, wincing and stopping as she ends up doing so much harder than intended, fingers absently tapping the edge of her desk as the world begins to focus again, still too blurry along the creeping smudged edges for her liking as she keeps herself from leaning back too heavily in her chair.

Yeah, she probably ought to go see Ivor.

* * *

 

This is not something Ivor wants to deal with.

" _How many_ did you have?"

This is really not something he has any interest in dealing with.

Petra's standing in his doorway, looking like death warmed over that may as well have been frozen afterwards before being boiled for good measure in a lava pit. She's slumping heavily, squinting in his general direction more than actually looking at him, and she has to stifle yet another yawn before answering, making it the fourth or fifth yawn in less than a fourth as many minutes.

Said answer is little more than a mutter, soft and slurring far more than it would otherwise.

"...about three?"

Ivor resists the urge to rub at his temples, choosing instead to narrow his eyes in an attempt to keep them from twitching the way his fingers are.

Three.

Three mugs.

And with their luck, particularly his, Petra used the mug she always does, which is fairly large enough as it is.

He wants to say he blames Jesse for giving her that mug months ago as a gift, but really this is what he gets for spiking the hot chocolate.

'Spiking' sounds so juvenile, though. Frankly, mixing it with some sleeping potion has consistently been the most effective way to get any and all of the Order to get to bed after pushing themselves too hard or depriving themselves of too much sleep, and it only seems to enhance the taste.

When Ivor had made a batch earlier today, however, after noticing just how dark the circles under everyone's eyes were getting, he hadn't intended on anyone overdosing.

Not that there would be any serious concern of that having negative effects, of course, beyond making whoever had so much want to get to bed all the sooner, but he's sure he and Petra are the only ones still awake and he has no idea how she managed it.

He's hardly a monster, and given that this is at least partially his fault, he's more than willing to invite her in to see if he has anything to remedy the situation or just up and help escort her to her room, because the last thing he wants or needs is their warrior stumbling down the stairs and breaking her neck because she drank too much hot chocolate.

Before he can offer anything or make any sort of suggestion though, Petra collapses.

Ivor doesn't mean that figuratively, in that she begins to break down or starts slurring even more, because she begins to fall forward and with how tired he is, it may only be how close he is to begin with that keeps her from landing solidly on his floor.

There's a quick check for her pulse that's more of a wild scramble, one where he just stops himself from entirely jabbing two fingers to her neck while he holds her up, than he'd like to admit, but it's late and he's tired and it's late and no one can see and it's _late_ , and he similarly makes no attempts to hide the way his shoulders slump or how large his relieved exhale is when he finds it.

It doesn't help that sleeping potions tend to relax and slow that sort of thing, but leisurely or not, it's still a steady pulse.

Ah.

He supposes he really did ask for this.

They'll have a chat in the morning about only having one or two cups of hot chocolate when he's the one making it.

It doesn't take long to lug her to his bed, seeing as how that leaving her on the floor is unacceptable and trying to drag her up any stairs will likely end up with both of them killed.

He also supposes he's done for the night too.

It only seems fitting, of course, Ivor notes with a smile, that Petra shifts _after_ he's finally gotten them settled under the blankets, mumbling something too quiet and incomprehensible to understand before nuzzling him, her head resting on his stomach.

At least he makes a decent pillow.


	14. Fanatic

Even before snagging all the glory and fame he could ever want, every bit of recognition and power he could latch onto and try to absorb, Soren had people yelling at him. Sometimes friends in frenzied fun, other times less friendly people who were less than pleased with his tests and interests.

By all accounts and more, he should be used to it.

He is not, not when those words strike him to the core and make him feel like his insides have shattered and been scattered to the wind in one blow while he has to keep a bemused, slightly terrified, but mostly neutral expression.

"God knows what you’ve been doing, everything you’ve been doing. You may fool me, but you can’t fool God!"

He raises an eyebrow while his blood runs cold, and it's to Soren's benefit that he's always been one to laugh and smile awkwardly at uncomfortable situations, the nervous grin his gives making him look as befuddled as the audience and the two burly individuals who are busy dragging the indignant intruder away.

(It turns out she's more annoyed and scandalized by how he and his friends are touting about the slaughter of the Ender Dragon, which confirms the Dragon did indeed exist and that's apparently against a good number of her core beliefs and he's not sure what to do about that but laugh for the reporters and feel very, very relieved as the questions begin again and stay as mundane and harmless as they were before.

How silly that someone would think they'd _lie_ about the dragon for their fame.

Soren focuses on blindingly bright lights and the eager scribbling of everyone nearby who has a pen and any form of paper, acting like he doesn't notice the way Ellegaard and Magnus are shifting to his right and how Gabriel's gone still at his left.

Positively ridiculous.

It's not as if Soren's heart is pounding in his ears or as if the slowly thawing blood in his veins is only moving at all because there was no sign of involvement from a certain alchemist. Not that anyone in their right mind would stand against the order of brave heroes that singlehandedly defeated the most terrifying monstrosity in this or any other realm, of course.

Hah.)

Soren's hardly in any position to knock down the beliefs of others, but personally he has trouble believing in deities when he feels like one, when with the flick of his wrist and the right button push he can blink things out of existence.

Not when he knows of Old Builders and Admins and an infinite number of worlds where anything is possible, where he's sure a command block could still make a person a ruler in any of them.

Not when throngs and hordes of people adore him for merely existing even as the others drift, as reporter after fan after nosy busybody wonders what he'll do next, if he'll follow in the footsteps of his friends.

And all the same, while it's hardly the first time some fanatic’s interrupted an interview or appearance and it certainly isn't the last, the words stay with Soren, clinging to his mind.

It helps no one that they only dig in deeper when he has nothing to listen to but the thrum of the command block and the silence of being alone.

Gabriel's already taken to having his own temple away from theirs, in the middle of the woods in an area south of nowhere and north of nonexistence, and wherever Ellegaard and Magnus go, increasingly further away from each other as banter turns to fighting before dissolving into awkward silences and bitter back and forths and then nothing at all, their fans are sure to follow in droves.

(He can't remember when Magnus started smoking so much or when Ellegaard stopped joining Soren for experiments or even just chats.

He's sure it doesn't matter.

His friends are living it up as heroes, heroes of his making, heroes that owe him everything, and Soren supposes he could join them.

It would be easier to do so if more and more of him didn't seem to be growing more attached to his own power and what he could potentially do with it.)

He has a fully finished fortress, gorgeous and intricate and as extravagant as he wants thanks to having all the powers and items he could ever want, and while it's perfectly dramatic, filled with winding hallways and different rooms as it all sits safely within the mountains, he won't be staying much longer.

There's no point.

The last visitor he had that wasn't a reporter, and even those have dwindled, was Ellegaard, and she made it clear she felt considerably unsettled, even with how close the fortress is to their old temple.

(Maybe that's why. He's not sure; he didn't ask. It was just another rejection of something he was willing to offer his friends, but it wasn't surprising. He wasn't offering her more power or prestige than she already had. Even Ivor, who had despised and spat on what Soren offered him despite it being able to help them all so much, demanded the trinkets and rewards from their adventures, had demanded Soren's possessions while rejecting Soren himself.

That seems to be the trend.)

There's an empty domain waiting for him in the End, filled with his favorite creatures and none of his friends, famous or forgotten.

And destroying the Dragon was more removing it from reality entirely than absorbing any part of its essence or being, but Soren feels like a dragon at the best of times now, never mind his worst points, where he aches for friends who've taken what they've wanted from him and left, the itch for _more_ buried beneath his skin like scales waiting to grow and stretch beyond his soft skin.

He wants it all. He wants to recognize his place, his power, and have everyone see that he's more than the leader and architect. They're fine titles, surely, but so minor in comparison to being recognized as a god, as the deity he feels like and could become.

And maybe, just maybe, he shouldn't have that. Not when every bit of adoration comes with the razor's edge of knowing it’s fueled by and founded in lies.

But it's a little too late to do anything about that now, isn't it?

The best he can try is leaving the command block behind, safely locked away where no one can reach it, dimly glowing and softly beeping even as he seals it away and tries to ignore the sharp tug at his core.

None of the others know where it is, and Soren will be in a different realm entirely.

He's a changed man, but even he knows better than to entertain the thought of godhood, especially with how receptive all of him is to it.


End file.
